


bog brown

by sadsparties



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Two To A Sack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 09:34:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21847516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadsparties/pseuds/sadsparties
Summary: Later, after, Francis watches James sleep.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Comments: 12
Kudos: 84
Collections: janky franky's frosty fun time 2k19





	bog brown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [icicaille](https://archiveofourown.org/users/icicaille/gifts).



> Written for the Frosty Fun Time 2k19 event on Tumblr

Later, after, Francis watches James sleep. 

He is as silent as the stars in the sky, matching his breathing with James's own. It is a cruel game he had played, back in that unforgiving land of endless night and endless day. He would lie next to James, counting the seconds between each breath, and he promised to himself that if James’s breathing stopped, so would his. It would be the most natural thing.

They have abandoned all their tents but one, a small mercy for the gravely ill. James grumbles despite his wasting body to give his bed to a better man. Francis smiles and shakes his head, searches for his own sack that has been sequestered by a curtain of loose blankets. For a while, he dreams, only to be stirred awake by slow, struggling footsteps. Without ceremony, James kneels heavily at his side, mumbles “It's fucking cold, Francis”, and Francis can do nothing but loosen the knots in his sack. James worms his way inside. He does the same the next day, and the next, and the next.

Once, James wakes in the middle of the night. The scarce moon has bathed him in silver, and his crusted hair sticks to his forehead like the life that clings to his body. Francis does not speak, caught out and undenying, and he watches James shift from wakefulness to alarm to concern. James's hand appears from beneath the sack, uncertain at first, but so very gentle. With a thumb, he wipes the wet from Francis's cheek, anoints him with his own tears.

When their ship arrives in England, a lieutenant greets them. His uniform is neatly pressed, his smile warm and naive. He offers to take their scant possessions to their lodgings. Francis rattles off an address, a Chatham inn that he had frequented as a half-pay lieutenant. He does not look at James, expects him to mention some gentleman's club, or a country cottage of his brother’s. When James gives the same address, Francis dares to lift his eyes, and what he sees in James's makes him feel two contrary sensations: first, like the earth has swallowed him whole; second, like his back has sprouted wings.

The memory comes to Francis, so vivid and enthralling that he does not notice immediately: James's breathing has changed, more controlled, deliberate. His eyes when they open are the color of freshly tilled soil. “What are you smiling about?” James asks. His voice is slurred and lovely and perfect. Francis tucks a strand of soft hair behind his ear. “It's nothing, James,” he says. “Only that I love you.”

Beyond their window, the moon is bright, the stars are singing. 

**Author's Note:**

> This first foray into Terror fanfiction is dedicated to [icicaille](https://archiveofourown.org/users/icicaille), who dragged me into the firehole, from which I have yet to surface.


End file.
